The Guardian Of The Rye
by skeltershield77
Summary: Not a parody of the book, 'The Catcher In The Rye'. The greatest change in Tommy's life has occured. Living an unexciting life and growing apart from his friends, he became a completely different person. He struggles to leave his dull life behind.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay, this is not exactly a Rugrats fan fiction, but a story I wrote using the Rugrats characters. It is also somewhat based on the book, 'The Catcher In The Rye', but it is NOT a parody. So if I happen to make a complete mockery of the book, or the Rugrats, I apoligize in advance to all CITR and Rugrats fans. I wrote this story based on my late uncle's experiences in his youth. (He was a real CITR freak) He inspired me to write this story and it is dedicated to him.**** The events that are going to happen in the story did not actually happen to him, but all I did is to try to convert the Rugrats characters based on the people in his life. (With a 17-year old Tommy Pickles posing as him.) Since the Rugrats were a huge part of my childhood, I'd figure I'll use them in this story. As I said, this is hardly a Rugrats story so I'm warning all of you. Every single one of the characters are 'out of character'. The person narrating this story is NOT the Tommy Pickles you all know and love.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Rugrats characters... blah blah blah. Don't sue me.**

Back in the days when everything was how I wanted it to be, three years ago when nothing changed and every day was the same as the other day. The same old everyday routine was all I lived for, and it worked perfectly. It wasn't exactly the most exciting time to live but everything fell into place in sheer perfection.

But little had I known that the greatest change in my life was long awaiting me. Time struck a new era of my life as soon as I heard the news. As soon as the words sprung to life, I knew it marked the end of all my childhood.

It was the last summer before high school. Chuckie and I had just come back from a trip across the country. We were supposed to slack off there for a couple more weeks as originally planned. Unfortunately, we had to come home as soon as we heard the sad news. We had just learned that my grandfather, Lou, had succumbed to lung cancer.

To be honest, I wasn't all that surprised; of course I was saddened, but I knew it was coming. Everybody did, I guess. For the past eight months, everyone was just awaiting for him to die. Let's face it, the old man was about ninety-something and an old-timer at that age with cancer had zero percent chance of defeating it.

But one thing that completely disgusted me was how everyone acted as if they were really surprised. At his funeral, grandpa's friends at the retirement home acted that way. But in reality, they were actually relieved that the old geezer died. I've caught some word being talked about in the retirement home during some of my monthly visits and all they can say about Grandpa was how much of a butthead he was. He was quite well aware of it, really. He knew it in his heart he was a butthole. Ever since he was first sent away from our home, he was always the meanest and grumpiest old guy. But I'm sure Grandpa never gave a rat's butt about what they felt about him, and I don't either. He always bugged Dad about how he wanted a transfer but the next Oldie Housing was out of town. He told me how much those people are such posers who couldn't keep their snotty noses out of his business. When he was there he would just sit in his rocker and get drunk all night. They hated it. In fact, I'm actually surprised they even showed up at his funeral.

The ceremony was held in Parkinson Memorial Park, a greasy cemetery with tall grasses and all sorts of environmental damages. (Thank God, my dad got one of the better grave areas.) The gravesite composed of about forty plus people. Leading the ceremony was a young, thirty-something reverend and a couple of altar boys. He spoke of nonsense, really. He never said anything relevant about Gramps; his sermon was composed of the same old bull they pull off at other wakes. In the front row sat the relatives, the Pickles'. The row contained my brother Dil, my mom, Gramps' widow Grandma Lulu, my dad, Uncle Drew, Aunt Charlotte, and my cousin Angelica. Behind them were the Finsters, the Devilles, the Carmichaels, my mother side grandparents Boris and Minka, and all the rows behind them sat Gramps' old timer home mates. All were weeping hard and tears were constantly falling, watering the grass.

And in the very back row behind a couple of vacant rows, I sat alone, looking down with my arms crossed, not even bothering to listen to what the stupid reverend is saying. I really don't know what I was doing or why I hadn't bothered to join the rest of the family. I just didn't feel like being near anyone. I've caught my mother a looking back at me with her blurry eyes. She was obviously disgusted by my behavior. When she was gesturing for my attention, I just looked up at her for a few seconds and tilted my head back down. Though I do keep hearing her whisper to dad regarding me. It was probably about how 'disrespectful' my behavior was.

I didn't weep for Grandpa, nor had I've felt anything. I just sat there staring at my shoes, thinking of random, senseless things. I mean, the old geezer never gave a damn that he was dying. I'm very sure he died happilly. He was making it happen, actually.

During his last days, he's been living the high life. To him, there's nothing like hot whiskey in the morning and cold gin to make himself pass out at night. I guess it's just one of those cases were you grew too old and have simply lost interest in life. And he's spending what's left of it under the alcohol gun. From the way he's been dealing with his whole disease thing, death seemed like nothing to him. Heck, he even offered my dad to go grave-shopping with him.

"Man, that gravestone is butt-ugly. Why the heck do ya wanna bury me there?!? I told ya, I wanna be next to Willy!!!" he shuted at my dad, "I don't care if it cost a million bucks! I wanna be buried where my mates are. I'm a veteran, dammnit!!!"

Haha. Funny old geezer.

When it was time for everyone to form a line and get a glimpse of Gramps, I was the only one who didn't get up. After they had their turn, Chuck and Kimi walked back the aisle and sat with me. Not once did we talk about Gramps, basically we talked about how we were going to start our junior year of highschool soon. But just as the line shrinked, they eventually coaxed me to get in that line. I didn't need to see him, I know what he looked like. There's nothing much to see in there; it's just the old geezer with his eyes closed. I've seen better of him. I'd rather stare at that old photograph of him in a banana suit Uncle Drew took of him thirty-five years ago, than look in that darn coffin.

"Come on, T. Just one last look up close." persuaded Chuckie.

I shrugged, not one bit interested.

"Well, I'd bet you'll find the sight very pleasant." Kimi said.

"What?! What's so pleasant about the old geezer's dead image?! It's a corpse for heaven's sake!" I blurted.

Kimi rolled her eyes and turned away. Twenty seconds later, she lighted up and turned back to me. "You told us you were going to sneak a couple of bottles in the casket. Well, aren't you going to do it?", she said.

"The Whiskey!" I exploded. It's a good thing nobody heard me.

"Well, where is it?" Chuckie gasped.

I got my butt off the seat, grabbed my knapsack and headed for the line. I just couldn't help but laugh when some old, eighty-something geezer with a metal leg walked up to Gramps' casket, pretended to sob, yet stuck a note in the corpse's pocket that said, 'F You'. The second he felt me breathing over his shoulder, he tilted his head back and gave me the coldest old guy stare you could imagine. I smiled at him and tapped at the bottles of whiskey inside my knapsack.

He smiled widely at me, "Good boy," he said, giving me a slight pat on the shoulder.

By the looks of his metal leg, I'm guessing he was that old Bertossi geezer whose leg got smacked by Grandpa's cane. Boy, did my dad have to pay loads for that guy's insurance. Gramps' favorite nemesis; he and Bertossi have had a number of drunken brawls and arguments. I guess you could also say that he was also Gramps' best friend. That's the kind of friendship I find to be true. You can be enemies and friends whenever you want.

When it was my turn for the casket, the expression on the body's face really surprised me. I saw a slight smirk on his lips as if he was happy to die. I knew him well and the things I inferred were indeed true. Kimi was right; it was a pleasant sight. I bet you all that he just couldn't wait to die.

Next, I made sure nobody was looking and the ghost was clear. Slowly, I took out two Smirnoff bottles of whiskey and stuck it between his hands. I figured he could use a couple of these on his way to heaven, or even hell, for that matter. I asked Timmy McNulty to get them for me at the Liquor Store and both of those combined caused me a heck load of cash so Gramps better be satisfied.

Before I got back to my seat, I made a little stop over where the band is playing. I requested for them to play The Rolling Stones' "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction". I know, I know, it was very cold of me to do that since it's one of rock and roll's greatest rock anthems. It was a happy song and everyone was ticked at me. But I walked back down that aisle with a proud, sluggish grin cause that was Gramps' favorite song to get wasted on.

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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here's Chapter 2. I got plenty more chapters to upload!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of this. Don't sue me.**

When I got back to my solitary pew in the back row, Chuck and Kimi had already gone back to their respective seats. I noticed Phil and Lil gave me a stone cold pinkeye after they saw me put those whiskey bottles in the coffin. They weren't too happy about it and, well, they're not too happy about me either.

In fact, almost everybody has avoided talking to me for the past few days ever since Chuck saw me throwing punches at the glass windows with my knuckles bleeding like heck. I almost broke them yet it still didn't matter because replacing the glass caused me a lot of money. Those punches actually caused me a whole lot of damage in my knuckles too; there's loads of cuts all over my fingers from the sharpness of it all. Despite all the blood all over my hands, I had no idea that the whole neighborhood practically heard me shattering the glass. Hell, I was doing it at midnight so I woke everyone up. A lot of people came over to the house to shut the racket up. One guy actually brought a gun with him and almost everyone thought there was some kind of crime or something. Murder, robbery, whatever; they all brought weapons. They tried to kill me but I didn't care back then. I just concentrated on getting my hands as bloody as it can be and getting my bones broken. I know, that was very stupid of me.

Sound familiar? Yes, that was my sorry imitation of Holden Caulfield in J.D Salinger's classic novel, "The Catcher in the Rye". What I just did to the windows is the same thing Holden did when he learned his brother died. I was having fun while doing it really.

Holden's my hero. The reason I got into that whole book was because I could relate so much to him. When I first read it, I was deeply appalled about the kind of truths that the book reflected. I agreed with almost all of Holden's views. Well, everything, actually. And I mean that literally. I know he never had the sanest mentality, but I admire his brutal judgment. I never saw his judgment as "hatred" but simply his opinion. I tend to be just like him in many ways. He's not afraid to consider the risky facts that make up the world's weaknesses. He had always thunk in a deep, passionate manner, not failing to exclude the all the bad eggs. One thing I noticed about him, was how he never kept secrets. A pro-literalist, he is. We wholeheartedly agree about the ugliness of the world, the ugliness of society and the ugliness of people. That's because we weren't afraid to be exposed to the truth. We, both can't stand phonies and the trivialness of society. We're honest about everything. Both of us believe that lies bring humanity down. The struggles of the innocent, the difference between the superficial and the artificial, the dregs of society, life and death. All are factors of humanity that are recognized in the novel. And every single one of these factors all reflect back to honesty. Your ability to tell the truth determines the direction your life is going to take on. Holden hardly said anything about it, but I figured it was the message he was trying to get across. Everyone should be able to withstand all judgment. There are some cases where people would collapse in their own honesty. I'm guessing that's what happened to Holden. From my perspective, he judged everything respectively.

"You're pretty much have to tear the basement down." Chuckie said the morning after.

He and Kimi had offered to help me clean up the mess down at my basement. I felt bad because I could barely lift a finger of my hands so they had to do everything for me.

"Sweet Holden..." Kimi told me the next morning with a huge mocking smirk. Damn, she was good.

Like I said before, I was never that frustrated about Gramps' passing. But it seems I've been reading in too much of that darn book, I've tested some of the scenes out. Since that incident, I've respectably earned the nickname, Tolden. It's pretty lame, but it did suit me.

For the past two years, I've been trying my best to as much like him as I possibly could. I wanted to speak his word and think his thoughts. Though, I don't try to imitate him physically; I never imitated his signature hunting hat or his trademark utilization of the expression "...and all" but base every single one of my thoughts on his judgment.

There's no one else other than J.D Salinger, the inner voice speaking for Holden, has opened my eyes so wide. The truths he emphasized and his philosophy has spawned a new Tommy Pickles, or a Tolden Pickfield, for that matter. And not everyone is satisfied.


	3. Chapter 3

Back at the funeral.

"You've got a lot of nerve, Tolden." someone whispered to my ear.

I turned around to see it was my ever loving cousin, sweet Angelica. I hardly said anything. I didn't care, that's why. I did what I just did because I figured the old geezer could use it for the long journey to heaven, and I bet he would've thanked me for it, too.

She was never really that hurt by Grandpa's drinking problem, about how he never had any hope for his health, how he was willing to just give his life away without reason. She pretended to care, but anyone could tell she was just acting everything up.

It always confused me. One day she never gave a rat's butt about the old geezer, or anybody for that matter. Then the next day, when something serious actually happens, she's concerned all of a sudden. That's funny; I hardly recalled her showing her love and affection for Gramps before he got sick. She's very fair-weathered. She never cared about anybody besides herself and her little posse. And she will never care unless something affects her. She never considered how Gramps felt, or probably doesn't even know what he's feeling. I recall that the one incident where she started to care was when Grandpa was drunk and screamed at her quite abusively. She was weak and selfish. And that's the lamest combination you could get.

She was kind of like the Stradlater of my life. Ward Stradlater, is Holden's cocky, narcissistic yet secretly slobby roommate who Holden despised so much. That's because Stradlater cheated him out of everything. There's one instance where he forced him to write a 500-word essay, which Holden did brilliantly, then Stradlater rejected it in the end. That's exactly similar to the kind of crap Angelica put me through my entire life, but all those instances aren't one bit close to how phony she's been acting lately.

Never once did we ever get along. We never really "clicked" with one another. That goes way back to when we were still babies. She would always bully me and she would always talk us into doing stupid, senseless things. I like her better that way, actually. That's because she had no real knowledge of the universe and was completely unaware of the fragility of life. I sort of admired her in a way. Maybe it's because she was pretty hardcore, for a three year old, that is. Everything was fine with her before this whole mess happened.

"God, you're such a loser. Say something," she groaned, "explain yourself."

"What the heck do I have to explain myself for?!?," I barked quietly, "Why can't the old geezer get buried with something he loved? Alcohol was in his blood, I doubt he'll dare to lie under the dirt without a couple of bottles."

She turned away for a second, and glared at the corpse. She took the last sip of her glass of Martini and licked her lips, tasting its remains.

"It wasn't in his blood, it was something he thought he loved," she disgustedly said, "I believe it was all the smoking and drinking that got him killed, not cancer." she said.

What a bunch of bull. "Smoking causes lung cancer, idiot." I said, "And besides, he _wanted_ to frickin' kill himself!!"

She was extremely annoyed, "Correction: he _thought_ he wanted to kill himself. You assume everything, typical of you, Tolden."

"And what you said isn't an assumption?" I answered, "There's a 50/50 chance that one of those assumptions were right."

"No one wants to kill themselves, all they needed was a different direction, a change in life." she fought back, "Some use alcohol as a haven for themselves, a refuge from the real world. That's because they're so picky, nothing ever satisfies them."

I didn't respond. Inside my head, I couldn't help but laugh at her sorry attempt to look philosophical. Well, I've noticed she's been reading more books lately and that's a good thing. But it sure isn't any help. God, how I hate her senseless mispresentation of English Philosophy.

"Because of their dissatisfaction and the influence of alcohol combined, it cost them their strength and hope," she continued.

I clutched my head between my knees and spoke of nothing. I figured accelerating the argument would lead to worse scenarios. I didn't feel the need to have a high-tensioned debate with her over something that didn't matter anymore.

It's pointless to have a civilized argument with her, because she always blames it on you and everybody or everything else. She doesn't accept facts humbly and that would always lead to something stupid.

"It's quite similar to your case, Tommy. You keep that smug attitude up, soon you'll be the one getting buried in that big, black box." She gave me a stone cold stare and shook her head.

I responded by applying silence and ignorance.

Look, I'm not saying she's stupid or anything, she's brilliant in her own way also quite intelligent. But what bugs me about her is how she tends to focus on her weaknesses and just tries to be something she's not. She constantly tries to be intellectual. While I admire her ambition, but really, it's not her field to play in. She wants to be a lawyer, for example yet she knows absolutely nothing about it and has no debating skills. Bad politics, scattered statements, no direction. The only way she handles and wins a debate is by torture. No oral application, whatsoever.

"You hardly love your family anymore. Do you, Tommy? I, for one, care about each and everyone of them. Including you, by the way. And right now, I'm not happy with the kind of "respect" you're showing us. I truly care about my grandfa--"

"YOU ARE A PHONY!!" I shouted. Everyone heard me, but I didn't care. They all deserved the truth, whether if it's hurtful or not.

One by one, I looked at each and everyone of their stunned expressions. My father, looking absolutely delirious. Uncle Drew and Aunt Charlotte, Angelica's parents, shooting me a cold stare.

"A phony, Tommy?" she shouted back, "Everyone is a phony in their own way. In fact, I think you are the biggest phony of them all. Like I said before, you assume everything. Assumptions without base, in fact. You have no humility, you have no understanding, you have no gratitude. You're dissatisfied with everything! Yet you give no notice to the dissatisfaction of others. You try so hard to be a Holden Caulfield, but you never saw the horrors of the world through his eyes. Yet, unlike you, he still manages to have balance in his opinions. And your Holden moaning is making neither you nor everyone else satisfied! In your case, if you truly care about the satisfaction of others, I suggest 'being a phony' as a better option. But you don't care, so burn in hell, anyway!!!"

"That's because I can handle the truth!!! You, on the other hand, continuously fool yourself by succumbing to superficial trends like MTV and all that. I may have no heart, but I'm not weak. I may not have respect from you or anybody else, but I _know_ I'm full of integrity. You are pathetic and weak. I suggest you give up your little attorney dreams and join in the prostitution business. It fully specializes the kind of phony you are."

She slapped me across the face, making a large slab of pink across the side of my cheek. "Why should I sacrifice my happiness and emotions for the sake of integrity?!?" she continued, "You may look down upon me, but I don't care. I don't need anybody's respect, just as long as I know and love what I'm doing."

I lost my temper and I kicked the chairs in front of us across the floor. At that moment I added, "I wish you were the one who died! I've always wanted you out of my face! It would be better for everyone! No one has to live through your bull anymore. Please die, already!"

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	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Here's the 4th installment. Hope you like it. If you don't, I wouldn't mind. Please R/R, I really want to find out what you guys think.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters... don't sue me. **

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I smashed all the champagne glasses across the buffet table and ran away across the cemetery all the way to the other side. In the beginning of Catcher In The Rye, we find Holden standing on a steep hill, overlooking the town. I found a hill too, overlooking the entire cemetery.

I just sat there, Aerosmith's album, "Toys In The Attic" blasting in my ears through my Discman, thinking of random thoughts again and simply rocking back and forth to the music. I tried my best to avoid thinking of what just happened. I'm guessing this was all because of the old geezer. I could never forgive my father for sending him to the retirement home in the first place. What's wrong with letting him stay in the house with the rest of us? I was only in my thirteenth year when he got thrown in there. I was devastated when my dad decided to send him away. If you could believe it that was the last time Gramps was ever his old jolly, perky self. Everything after that just turned ugly. But that moment wasn't as ugly as things had been after he died.

I got up from the hill and just browsed the tombstones, Aerosmith still trapped in my ears. As I was walking along, I had just realized that the funeral had ended half an hour ago. I was wondering if they'd gone already without me. I was hoping not because I had no idea how to get home.

I ran back to the gravesite. When I got there, I was surprised no one was there but I noticed two cars still parked at the road. I was sure that neither of those cars were ours. I found my knapsack still sitting o the pew which I had sat on and grabbed it. I still had a couple more bottles of whiskey left. I ran to Gramps' grave, he was neatly buried now. I stared at it and stomped hardly on the grass, trying to make it dirtier.

I cracked open both bottles and poured it all over the grave. I bet he's thanking me right now under there sipping the drops of whiskey seeping through the soil.

"Rest In Sleaze, ya old geezer." I said with a big smirk across my face. I was done fucking up his grave and ugly-ing it up, like he wanted.

"Come on, Tommy, let's go." said a voice.

I turned around to see it was Chaz Finster, Chuck and Kim's dad.

"Where's mom and dad?", I asked him.

"They're too disappointed with you," he said, annoyed. "They couldn't wait for you any longer, so they asked me to do that."

"How is it that they're too disappointed with me? I fucked off... I knew that's what they wanted," I told him, "They could have just told me to do so and I wouldn't have been such a bother at the ceremony."

"You're right. They wanted to get the heck away from you," he answered, "That's why they fucked off away from you, too."

"Really, it took them that long, huh? That long to finally give up on me..."

"Jeezus, Thomas. Right now, I really don't need any of your know-it-all bull," he was angry, now. "I'm not wasting my life, especially on a time of my life like this, listening to you boast and boast about everything. It's total disrespect, really."

I remained silent. I really didn't want to argue with my best friend's dad. It just felt a little awkward, you know. He's a nice guy, anyway. He's just a bit clueless sometimes.

When we came back to the two cars parked at the road, I noticed Chuck and Kimi inside one of them. I walked to the car, but Chaz pulled my shoulder back and turned me to the direction of the other vehicle.

"Ummm... why do I have to ride in here?" I asked.

Chaz sighed. "Look here, Thomas. My family and I stayed behind and waited for you out of pity for Stu and Didi." he said, "None of it means you're welcome to have our service or our friendship, or our home and family."

"Look, I have no beef with you guys. I won't do any harm, or whatever it is you speculate about me. I know Chuck and Kimi wouldn't agree to th--"

"I don't give a damn if they agree with me, or not. It's not about beef, it's just you... your influence... you."

"So, you're just bugged by me?"

He sighed, extremely irritated. "From this point on, you are there by forbidden from ever seeing my son and daughter again!"

"Wh--?"

"Shut up. You wasted time once again. Look, Tommy, I don't have a lot time. Just get in the damn car..."

I did as what I was told. I couldn't stand talking to him anymore. The guy was just too frantic! In the car, I watched Chuck start the other car with Kimi in the backseat. Chaz was still in the gravesite gathering the mess. Kimi rolled the window down to talk to me.

"Your dad said I can't talk to you, anymore." I said.

"I know... Ummm... Look, I just wanted... _we_ just wanted to speak our last words with you, right now." Kimi said. Chuckie listened with a big frown but never said a word.

I stared at her disgustedly. I didn't say a word and the thought of them buying into what their dad said just sickened me.

"Look, if you don't want to talk, that's fine." she said.

Silence from me again.

"We're gonna keep in touch, right? My dad's just a little creeped out by you. I think he can get over it soon."

I looked down at my shoes, trying to ignore her words.

She sighed in annoyance. "Goodbye!" she roared. She tried to roll back the window.

I spoke up, "You're actually giving in to his bull. Your father is one giant asshole, you know that. The fact you guys are actually doing what he says, and you have no say for your own life. You guys need me, why can't you tell him that? God, you guys are low."

"Wait, you actually think we are in need of your company? Back then, we did. Now? Not so much. The world never revolved around you or your opinions. There are those of us who are in need of others and love in our lives. There are those of us who are scared about being alone for the rest of their lives. All of us are weak, all of us are phonies, in a way. You're too arrogant, hell, you're one of the biggest assholes I've ever met! I may find that attractive, in some way, but we really don't want you anymore. I still think you're brilliant, but you're simply intolerable. If you're going to do one of your Holden rants, which you hardly do right, I don't want to hear anymore of them. If you find me a phony, weak and lighthearted, then just f--k off right now. I don't need any of it."

I responded in an Elmer Fodd voice, to break it off. "Shhhhh… be quiet. Be vewwy, vewwy quiet…" I hated it when she'd get all moody and bitchy at me.

She was happy now with a wide mischievous smile slabbed on her face. It looked like she didn't mean what she said. I could tell it was her father who tried to make her say that. (He was still ignoring me, by the way.) But she wasn't agreeing with it all the way.

She slightly laughed. "I mean it." she attempted to sound serious, but was kind of laughing inside.

"I still love you." I shot at her. Typical Kimi, she rolled her eyes at me. With a wide smile, though. I've laid that line on her countless times and she loves it when I say that. She thinks it's a joke, well, I don't know if I meant it or not. It's just one of those little games we play, here and then. Sometimes, I meant it, sometimes I didn't. I don't know about this time, though.

"Really..." she said, laughing like hell, "Look, Toldie. You're a wimp. I love you, too."

But I noticed her massaging her eyelids and her exposing the red under her eyeballs. She was rubbing her eyelids using two of her middle fingers sticking out at me.

"Ick!" I said to her.

Chuckie, who was very annoyed at his sister not letting it out to me properly, turned the radio on real loud. Judas Priest rocked the radio with "Screaming For Vengeance" but just when the guitar solo came, just as Kimi and I were rocking our heads off, he quickly tuned it off.

"Goddamnit, Tolden." Chuck said, not laying one look at me. I thought he was mad at me.

Downed at Chuck cutting off the song, I said, "Geez, Chuck. I didn't think you'd be against me."

"No, I'm not against anything. I'm just as pissed off about this whole deal as you."

"You look mad. I dunno, are you?"

"Nope. Not at all. I just didn't feel like talking."

"Then, why'd you turn it off? The solo was just coming on." Kimi complained.

Chuck spotted Chaz finishing up and heading towards out way.

"Dad's coming. Roll those windows back up." he said,

As their car's window made it halfway back up, Chuckie lit up and said, "You know Tommy, we could still see eachother. Without my dad knowing, that is. We'll just try to drop by your place every now and then. You just go slack off, and we'll handle it."

He handed me one of the old walkie talkies we used to play with a really long time ago. It was the the walkie talkies with the giant clown face on it. I spoke up to it, testing to see if it still works.

"Test… Chuck's a fag… Test… he still keeps these shit talkies… faggo waggo…"

"Jesus H. Christ!" Chuck whined, "just fucking keep it, okay."

"Sure thing, bud." I said

"I'm still gonna miss ya though," he answered.

"No you won't." I replied.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I was browsing through all the Rugrats fan fiction, and I'm so surprised to find out that there are hardly any 'baby' Rugrats stories! Hehe. Well, I've also noticed you take coupling quite seriously and I haven't decided on it (if I want to hook anybody up, or anything.) Even if I do consider coupling, I won't put a lot of emphasis on it so don't worry about it. Oh yeah, I'd love to hear your reviews. :D**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of this... blah blah blah**

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We could see Chaz on his way back to the lot so we rolled the windows back up. I took one last look at Chuck and Kimi. Who knew that particular moment will be the last time I'll ever see the two of them in a very long time. I could see Chuckie sticking out his tongue at me and Kimi blew me a small kiss. I winked back at both of them and fingered them with both hands.

Unlike Holden, I had great friends. I think Chuckie and Kimi are the only two people in the world I knew who truly understand me and they're the only two people who I share the same views of the world with. Holden would have loved to have their company; they would have stuck by him the whole way through his journey. They've been with me ever since we were babies.

Chuckie was always a laid out guy. He's pretty much like me, he never gave a damn about anything or whatever people think of him. He's gotten over his little scaredy cat montage he used to be known for. And now, he's one of the baddest motherfckers I know. Just before all this mess happened, the both of us had the best of times. He just got his driver's license so every weekend we would always drive down the countryside with rocking music turned up louder than hell. We went to all sorts of places in America, and sometimes even Canada; we had driven to places like New York, Dallas, Florida, Los Angeles and a lot more. In Canada, we had gone to Quebec and Vancouver. We would ride the towns shirtless with our other clothes torn to shreds and just pick up the hottest girls. Those little road trips were only exclusive to me and Chuck alone. We would sometimes invite the others, Phil, Lil and Kimi along; it was still great and all. But the trips we did with just the two of us are the only times when I feel more comfortable than ever. It was his presence that relieved my problems and the world's problems; it makes me forget about everything that pisses me off and it's one of those rare times when I bitch about nothing, really. Those little joyrides across the country were basically a celebration of the good life, and rock n' roll.

It was a great time to be young. On the most special occasions, those special occasions being going to the hottest rock and roll concerts in town, we would always drive down the town really early and tailgate our way in the arenas. We would meet up with a bunch of other rockers and have a couple of drinks with them. We never brought too much money or anything. No extra clothes, no technology, and not a lot of food. It was just us, the road, and the music.

Chuckie loved his music more than ever. He never played any instrument, but the guy is a full encyclopedia of hard rock and metal music. His favorite bands have always been Led Zeppelin and Aerosmith. Mine are Pink Floyd, Deep Purple and AC/DC. Besides The Catcher in the Rye, the other thing I base my life on is rock and roll. It goes the same for all my friends, but Chuck most especially. Every week, we always took the time to pass by music shops but we've always preferred to go to old vinyl record stores. We were just one of those kids who were just unlucky being alive during the eras of MTV or whatever mainstream shit there is. We've always wanted to know what it was like to live at the time where MTV never existed. That was way back in the 1970's, unfortunately, we're stuck living in the late 1990's and onwards.

In effort to get a taste of those times, we picked great monuments in rock history as our destination when we go on our trips. Me and my friends' heads are all caught up in the music. But it's Chuck who was the ultimate die-hard. He collected everything from every album on each of his bands' discography to the rarest concert bootlegs you can find. And that's not all.

Just like I have been infected with the old Holden Caulfield bug, Chuckie found himself enduring the John Lennon bug. Yeah, Chuck was kind of a hippie himself. He always talked about peace and love. I kind of admire that too. It is true, us trying to kill eachother is what screwed up everything in the first place. I never really have gotten deeper into the whole politics thing, so I have no say in anything. But I admire Chuck's desire for change. Our parents are more of republicans or conservatives, so they weren't too happy with all of Chuck's attempted political action. But Chuck has only caught Lennon's political side, and maybe the looks and style too, but it's too bad he never inherited Lennon's musical talent. Lennon was a former member of the biggest band in the world, The Beatles, for Christ's sake, the man was a genius. Far off of Holden's league, John Lennon was an impossible man to match. No one wrote music like him, no one had more musical impact on the world like him, no one _was_ him. Chuck had his looks and intelligence but what he didn't have was his charisma, or just his brilliance. I have lost count on how many times he's failed on conducting protests. He just never had drawn anybody into it. Resurrecting the hippie movement from the '70s seemed almost impossible. He's tried countless times but never gave up on any of it until it was fully over.

In this case, the musical talent didn't matter. Besides, he was never that much into Lennon's music, especially the ones featuring that dreadful bitch, Yoko Ono. He was only into his politics and views. He does respect them, but he kind of despises the Beatles. He doesn't own any of their albums and his favorite of their songs were mostly Paul McCartney penned songs. With Lennon, he only owned one album, and that was the album with the infamous cover art with John and Yoko naked. I know Chuck was all for that kind of movement, but I know he was too much of a pussy to pull off a stunt like that. Yet he still believed it was John's most brilliant display of divine humanity. I couldn't agree with him more.

---

Well, that's mostly it about me and Chuck. To sum him all up, here's what he is: a card-carrying activist, could-give-a-fuck badass, liberal hippie. He's one of those rare breeds of people who you can't figure out whether he's a brilliantly head-nailed genius, or a complete idiot! I really can't think of anyone else I admire more than him. And no, we don't do drugs or anything, in case you're wondering. We had a couple of drinks here and then, but none too much. Unlike hippies, we tend to live the rock and roll lifestyle based on our own nature-blessed, drugless perspective. And that's the right way to live.

And what about Kimi? Ha! Back then, she was nothing to me but Chuckie's awesome sister. She hung out with us all the time and came along with Chuck and I to probably half of our little road trips. Back then, I didn't know too much about her. All I noticed was her wordy brilliance. She was poetic, very philosophical, knowledgeable and full of energy. She loved to read and write, sketch, travel and just _think_. Basically, she just wants to absorb as much knowledge about the universe as she can. It was her intellect that made us get along with eachother. I wasn't at all attracted to the whole Japanese thing every other kid is so crazy about. Not that it wasn't attractive, she was quite a looker, but there's more to her as I learn more about her everyday. But my whole point is, she's always been good in my book and she's someone I learn a lot from. From brother to sister, she's a lot like Chuckie.

I couldn't live without either of them.

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	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Look, I still have a long way to go with this story. I'm only uploading what I have done for now, but I'm still working on it. I'm trying my best to make this as interesting as possible. Please R/R and tell me what I need to improve on.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters. Go easy on me.**

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Chuck and Kimi were the only two real friends that truly stuck with me the whole time. Other than them, there's my little brother-- Dil, my other friends-- the Deville twins, Phil and Lil. There's not too much about them, they were just my best friends who I hang out with a lot. They've always kept their cool the whole time and they're not too phony.

My brother and I aren't that close as we're suppose to be. Dil just wasn't the kind of guy I'm able to strike a long conversation with. My parents were pretty down about us rarely speaking to eachother. In fact, they're actually more down that we weren't more alike. I'm the rebel, he's the good son. Before I read The Catcher in the Rye, it used to be the other way around. I was the good son. But everyone in the family has passed that phase a long, long time ago. We're completely opposite. My parents have tried not to play favorites, but considering Dil's excellent grades and awards, anyone could easily tell who they favor the most. My parents are so proud of him and they are so disappointed with me.

That night when I just got back home from the funeral, I've over-heard my parents and Dil talking in the kitchen.

"I really don't know what's gotten into him," my mom bloated, "I mean, he used to be an honor roll student, for heaven's sake..."

"It's either my father's influence on him, his music, or that damn book." my father replied.

"All of the above." blurted Dil.

"Zing..." said Dad.

"At an untimely death like this, he has to pull another one of those smartass little tough-guy attitude swings," my mom said, "Poor Angelica, she was deeply hurt by what Thomas said to her, and what he said hardly is true at all. That boy is so selfish, sometimes I really feel like giving up on him. In fact, I do right now."

What she said was entire bull. I love my mother, but she says the most hypocritical things. I believe I got my over-assumption instinct from her descent. She's the same way as me.

"He's not perfect, mom. Anyone can have problems like that. If Tom truly is sick, we better do something fast. I have a feeling he's likely to go insane anytime now." Dil said.

Oh, please. Speak for yourself, little brother.

"What? We let him do a little time in counseling, maybe?" Dad asked.

"Perhaps." Dil shrugged.

"Well, Stu. At least be thankful we have Dillon." she turned to Dil, looking at the eggs he's frying, "You always turn the sunny side back up." Mom winked.

Dil was preparing dinner, or in this case, breakfast-dinner. We were having breakfast at night and we didn't really care what time of day a certain food is suppose to be eaten. That's one good thing about them. We never stick to traditional family values.

The eggs Dil was frying laid bright yellow and sizzling loudly in the pan. "I turn the sunny sides up equally on both sides of the egg. I do it so that both ends have the same colour. Now, all there is left is to cut the crusts out."

"Smart boy." Dad said.

Indeed he is. He always made the best eggs. Out of all the dishes Dil cooks, I hardly look forward to eating any of it other than his eggs. Despite all his academic accomplishments, his cooking is all I ever positively acknowledge him for.

You know, I could easily be like him if I wanted to. But I just didn't feel like it. A few years prior, I was the big shot my parents were bragging about. I actually felt bad for Dil because he was always being outshadowed by me. By how my parents feel about him now, it was probably a good thing that I screwed up my academic life now that they realize what a good son Dil is. He really is.

Everyone in our little group of friends referred to him as "Mr. Lullaby" mainly because he hardly talked at all. But the only words that came out of his mouth were the smartest words anyone could say. He was never really an attention hog like I was when I was the good son. What made him such a rebel before? It was simply his lack of speaking. Whenever someone is talking to him, he never really gave proper responses. And it got him away from any dirt. He wasn't avoiding phoniness but his silence cost him the title. Good for him. The best way to avoid any dirt is by just keeping your mouth shut.

Anyway, ten minutes later my mom called me downstairs for dinner. I was already downstairs but I pounded on the steps to make it look like I just came down.

"We're also going to have a little talk about what happened." my mom said bluntly.

I just couldn't help but cringe at what she said. Great, another senseless little rambling from my parents. They say the same stuff over and over again.

I came down to the kitchen expecting to hear a lot of mad word lashes but they didn't do that at all. Thank god.

"We believe in justice," my mom broke the silence, "you both know that we do our best to give you anything you deserve. Right now, we have two different cases, between the two of you. But I learned that the best way to change one's act is by making a verdict relative to that person's preferences on what is the best alternative to make him change."

She looked at me with a plastic smile across her face.

"We've tried punishing you countless times. But I realize that the only way to fix your act is by going vice versa."

"Champ, Holdie Boy... we're asking you. What do you think we should do? We can give you anything." Dad asked.

"Before I decide on that," I said, "let me ask you this, just to clarify: do you truly seek change in me or are you only seeking to cut my tongue?"

I saw puzzled looks on my parent's faces. I looked at Dil and he wasn't listening.

I sighed. "I was asking you whether you wanted me to change or you just wanted me to keep my mouth shut in order to avoid my little vulgar incidents."

"Both!" Dad cried out, "I can't believe you still don't realize this, but we do care for your well-being. We are willing to do whatever it takes to fix whatever dysfunction there is in you, and your brother."

"Aha. That's where you're wrong," I replied, "what makes you think I can change. From how I see it, this can easily be categorized as a form of bribery."

"We just want what's best for you."

"Ahhh… a parent's most played out line."

"We'll do it, even if it comes down to giving in to you."

"Then you aren't teaching me anything, are you?" I reacted, "By that statement alone, I could only assume you're more up for me shutting the heck up and getting ignored by everybody."

"It's not like that."

I sighed, again. "Look, I know you do care. But you're not very good at discipline. And obviously, you're not fully familiar with psychology. I can choose to evolve through any path I want. I can easily act like a different person, which I will do just to please you, but my way of thinking can take a lot of time to change. From the different mental paths I've chosen to evolve my mind, those paths are interchangeable but there's no way I'm taking a step back."

I finished my glass of orange juice and spoke again.

"Angelica was right about one thing. I should start thinking about the satisfaction of others. For that, I'll make you a deal; I'll zip my mouth up and I'll work hard to boost up my grades again. I'll do what you say."

"Fine, atleast make a little effort to show everyone that you really mean no harm."

"Sure."

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	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Here's another thing I want you all to know. I might have ripped off a couple of sayings from various sources I can't remember. So, sorry for that. :D**

**Disclaimer: I don't any of the characters, just a fan. don't sue me.**

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Summer has ended and it was time to start my junior year. I promised my family I'll work hard again, but didn't really want to. It's part of life, you know, doing things you don't feel like doing. Look, I really do care for them and I'm willing to do whatever that makes them happy. I'm just a little selfish. I truly am. Everybody is, I guess. But it's one of those certain things you have to do to gain the better advantage. They're my family and I have no one else to rely on whenever I screw up. They're the people I'm going to get stuck with for the rest of my life and fucking it up will lead me to fuck up even more.

Or atleast not until I get married and have a family of my own, which I don't plan to do. I'll fuck it up too. I just know it, I'll make a bad father. I'm not that good with kids and I hate being around them. I was always quite dependent and I was always a screw up. So, in my case, better stick to the old boomers till I die. I'll never learn.

I love them, but I don't actually _like_ them. What I meant by love, is that I care for them, I will be very concerned when something happens to them and all that. But what I meant with _like_ is how I don't really get along with them. I rarely had an interesting conversation with any of them and none of us ever made any effort to make quality time with eachother. I'm a lot closer with my friends because I get along with them. With my family, our relationship is growing wider apart the more different we become and I'm afraid of what the end result is going to be. There's a thin line between _'to like'_ and _'to love'_. If you have a relationship with both of those, then you must have one of the most strongest relationships. Take it this way: _love_ is the most valuable thing on earth but to _like_ preserves it.

I'm thankful for having them around me, cause nothing's perfect but that's what a "family" was meant to be in the first place. Every night, I pray to whatever force there is above that's controlling the universe, whether if it's really a God or not, and thank him for giving me life and a great family.

That's another thing The Catcher in the Rye taught me, it struck me hard when Holden talks to Allie, his late brother, about his troubles. The part in the book where Holden was frantic about death afraid he was going to die every step after step he takes. Those made me realize a lot of things. You could die in any second. Whether all these religions were true or not, I better make the best of my life so I can get appointed with a reasonable fate.

But I knew life wasn't that cruel. Life can give anybody a second chance but I never accepted any of it. If karma does lurk around in this world, I want everything I deserve to happen to me just as long as it's relative to the truth.

After the funeral, it's a good thing my mom didn't continue with the whole "justice" speech. In terms of the laws and ground rules, that word, "justice", missed a whole lot of points.

I had that idea ever since the last day of my grounding and I was talking to Kimi on the walkie talkie Chuck handed to me.

"Oh well, it's justice to be served so I dealt with it." I said.

"Oh c'mon, Tolden. I'm really sick of that. Are you still listening to those little "justice" lectures of your mom's?" she asked.

"I've heard every single word of that everytime I got my ass busted time and time again," I replied.

"Justice is pure bull, if you ask me."

"Why?"

"Well, not all of the time, but in most cases it proves to be the most ignorant method of resoluting any conflict." she answered, "Whenever convicted in court for example, the whole sentencing configuration was never a fair verdict for anyone. That's because no one learns anything."

I couldn't see where she was going, but I was in for another one of her smartass human and judicial psychology rants.

"The deal you made with your family is a prime example of how cases should be handled. A situtation should be handled by justification of what's best for both the plantiff and the defendant. But the court uses money and jail or death sentences as the only motive to resolute the conflict. Which leads me to this conclusion: Justice only seeks to punish and not to heel."

She was always the smartest friend I ever had. I was so jealous of how philosophical she gets, she can think unlike any other person on earth. Her ideas has expanded every single day.

"Ahhhh..." I expressed, "You're one hell of a book to read, Kim."

"Hmm... I like that thought." she answered.

She then continued, "The human mind spawns numerous trivial ways to resolute their problems; there's money, war, bets etc., but justice has to be the most overrated one of them all."

I could hardly say anything at all. I loved listening to her rant. She loved to lecture us about how screwed up the society is. I can never think of a good reply cause I was miles away from her line of intellect. Trying to match up to her words would make me look very clueless.

"My parents wanted me to become an attorney ever since the thought came up. I wanted to do so at first, but I discovered the biased judgements made to gain acclaim over a case. Lawyers never had an open mind." she told me, "I would rather take up Psychology or Philosophy, or basically anything relative to that."

"Good," I answered, "People nowadays, make money as their main objective. In a free country like this and the kind of comfort it provides, I doubt anyone is willing to make a difference."

"Sure. That's it exactly." she said.

Well, that's just another little Kimi rant I wanted to share. And unfortunately that was the last rant I heard for almost two years. And I never saw her nor Chuck again. Not that I was getting ready to tackle my third highschool year, I thought I still had them. I thought we were going to get through school together, but no, I had gone through first day alone. Finsterless on either side.

It turns out, that when I got home from the first day, I had found out that the Finsters had moved away out of our town. None of them stated where they were going, I was quite surprised neither Chuck nor Kim had told me. From that point on, I was very depressed. I had no friends left. Sure, there were my brother and the Deville twins, but they're nothing to me at the moment.

The Deville twins, Phil and Lil, were nothing more to me than casuals lately. Unlike before, when all of us were inseperable. I don't know what happened. It was probably the same case as what happened with my relationship with my family; we grew apart the more different we became. I was pretty sure the realtionship we had doesn't fit into the whole "friendship" category anymore. They were still in the school I was studying at, but neither one of them ever considered to give me a little notice.

But I'll give you all a glimpse on what's going to happen sooner: our so called, "casual friendship" will sink down lower and will soon turn into a vengeful strife.

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	8. Chapter 8

Before I get into that, first let me tell you about what my school life was like. I've officially turned into a 'Holden Caulfield'. I wander around my world a loner and completely careless about anything. That's most of it.

I did manage to keep my promise to my parents about working harder with my grades. Though my grades weren't as high as it was when I was at my prime during the whole pre-Holden era, but it was good enough to provide for my parents. Yet, I still wasn't enthusiastic about any of it.

Halfway through the remains of my highschool life, Junior year went by quick. It was the dullest year of school. My parents refused to get me a driver's license or let me borrow the car so I never went into any roadtrips to get away from it all. That was, since it was always Chuck's car and it was Chuck who drives the trip.

One of Chuck's activist friends, Irish was his name, got me a job at a vinyl record store he ran. I had access to all the rock and roll galore I could bide. I became a man in that joint. It was my favorite hangout and my own sanctuary. Usually we don't get any customers, mainly because vinyl records were very out of fashion, so Irish just lets me feast on all the music I want. Everyday after school, I just sit there with my headphones turned up to ten and just rock out. I'm usually alone in that store, anyway. Sometimes Dil stops by a few times just to see how I was doing and sometimes he would rock with me too. Irish also lets me get a couple of albums for free every day. He was a pretty rich guy, so the store's slow business wouldn't matter to him. And over-paying me with my weekly salary didn't matter either which is always a plus. I didn't feel guilty at all; my mom says that I'm stealing from him, in a way, but really, he's quite a charitable guy. He'd just sit there with his massive thick hair halfway down his back, his Elton John star-shaped sunglasses, wearing a vintage Def Leppard Union Jack shirt and shredded jeans.

Through those years I kind of inherited that kind of style too. I let my hair grow longer a couple of inches below my shoulders, wearing sleeveless muscle shirts, not one of them without a band logo on it, and to top it all off, my signature Misfits bandana-headband wrapped around my forehead. Okay, it's another one of my little Holden mimicking; he had his favorite hunting hat and I had the Misfits bandanna. Well, it was one filthy bandanna, all the clothes I wear are too. My mom has been trying to get me to get a haircut all this time, but I refused to do so every time. I loved the man I transformed into; it separated me from the crowd and it defined who I am. It not only says, "badass rocker", it also says "creative", "deep", and "I don't give a flying fuck". It's simply a kickass way to make impressions on people.

Despite my unlimited access to all the albums I could get, my main priority was to earn enough money so I could really do some traveling. I've always dreamed about going to Europe and I was thinking if I could go there in the next summer, or maybe study in one of their universities. I wanted to visit the sole core of heavy metal's origination-- England. How I wished I was a British boy who grew up in the UK in the early days of metal. Just so I could see my favorite bands in their prime of youth. So I can see the late John Bonham perform with the rest of Led Zeppelin in one of their earliest tours, to get to see all the late greats like Bon Scott, John Lennon, Jimi Hendrix, Randy Rhoads, etc. But unfortunately, that's not ever going to happen since all those guys are dead. But I would love to visit the places that took them to where they stand. If I ever go to Europe, my first stop would be Birmingham, England—the birthplace of heavy metal. In terms of music, I lean more towards the whole New Wave of British Heavy Metal era. The UK spawned the greatest bands in the world; they spawned bands that probably created rock music, the land that brought rock musical creativity to its highest form. Other places I considered going to were France, Switzerland, Norway, Spain, and Italy. I'm also a history fanatic and I'm interested in all kinds of architecture. I love European culture and those funny accents. And yes, by the end of my junior year I had earned twice the amount of money I needed. Dil also wanted to come with me. Being the genius smartass that he is, he wanted to study at Oxford. Hell, my grades are probably good enough to get me in there too. Well, Dil has always wanted to get away from America. Part of it is because he's seen most of it; another part is because of its vulgar culture, and another part for his fascination with European and Ancient history. I tried to earn as much money as I can so we can travel everywhere, not just Europe, but also Asia, Africa, or anywhere else full of history.

He always saw American history as more of a soap opera, too boring and bland for him. He was never a patriot; I'm not one, either. I don't really get what's the point in it. Sure, this is a great country and all but I would never do anything that drastic to prove my love for it. You could pretty much refer to us as liberal assholes.

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	9. Chapter 9

It was right before Spring Break when I was informed that Angelica had her application accepted at Harvard University in law. I had a few confrontations with her but we hadn't really talked. She's making it look like she's forgotten about the whole incident, but I can sense the grief. But I'm glad that she hadn't bothered me at all. Usually, when something good happened to her, she would brag and show off like there's no tomorrow. But she didn't, and that's good.

I bit my tongue over the line I threw out before that she doesn't have what it takes to be a lawyer. Though, I don't believe that she proved me wrong. Her debating skills have pretty much improved dramatically but she was still quite biased, pretty much. Kimi had once told me that 'black and white thinking' is the cause of all stupidity, which is the cause of all trouble. Sometimes Angelica thinks that way, and being a lawyer isn't going to cut it. I'm not saying she's stupid or anything, it's just that she doesn't belong in the logic field of society. There's a gray line in everything and she's just not capable of dissecting that line to find the perfect source. She's better off entertaining, or anything that follows orders. But still, I congratulate her.

In one particular little family gathering, it was the first time Angelica and I encountered eachother since our quarrel seven months prior. It was a gathering to celebrate Angelica's Harvard acceptance and her engagement to her new fiancé Timmy Mcnulty. Tim had proposed to her two months after they started dating yet their engagement has been put on hold for almost a year now. Tim has also applied at Harvard so they can share a place when they attend college together. They kept their engagement secret from all of us, thinking their parents would kill them. But luckily, they were happy about it. Well, they are a little too young to get married and I don't think they're going to plan out any weddings until they graduate out of highschool. But enough of that. What I want to bring out was that I'm glad that Angelica has scored a life that she wanted. Perfect school, perfect life partner, perfect job, perfect everything! I was jealous, even though that kind of life was nothing much to work for. Since the past year, I was never completely happy, satisfied with everything. I've always tried to find my way to get that same feeling again.

Anyway, so in our Pickles family affair, Angelica spoke to me once. It was her who approached me.

"Hey Tom," she said.

I was sitting on the edge of the sandbox with a can of coke at hand. She took off her sandals and hopped in the box with me. Her long golden hair flew back in the light breeze as she dipped her feet in the warm sand. "Nice bandanna," she commented. A fake, plastic smile flashed upon her face. It was pretty awkward. It was awkward talking to her again without going at eachother's throats. But this time neither one of us were mad at eachother, it was weird.

I hadn't answered, which made that plastic smile on her face fade away. She had a disappointing look on her face that said, 'What's-the-point-in-this-?'. She looked down as if she was counting each grain of sand. A faint smile appeared. She was probably thinking of the time when we were playing "Scientist" way back when we were babies. Me and my gang of infants tried to dissolve the sand in grape juice and we would taste it. We sure had it in us for chemistry.

"Does this sandy bopper grape juice good enough to inbent a new chemical distoverty?" I asked them, "Taste it, Lil."

"Okey-dokey," Lil stuck her mud-and-worm infested tongue out to get a taste of our new found delicacy.

"Mmmmm, Grape Powders," Lil said, licking her fingers.

"Let me bite it, Lillian!" Phil whined.

"Nuh-uh, Phillip. Tommy let me try it firstest!" They looked like they were rip out on eachother's faces.

"Nuh-uh, Lillian! I was firstest before you were firstest!" Phil answered.

"Now, now," Chuckie broke the fight, "we all get to try it. Can you gived it to me, Lil?"

Lil groaned, handed the plastic pale to Chuckie, then stuck her tongue out at Phil.

Chuckie dipped his finger in the delight. "BLLLEEEGGHHHH!!" Little Ol' Chuck was choking and gagging everywhere. He was in deep trouble.

"Don't worry, Chuckie," I said heroically, "we'll get the sandy blopper juice grape out of you!" I wrapped my tiny little arms around his stomach, but it wouldn't come out. Unaware of me choking him, I held my stubby, chubby baby fingers around his neck and shook it. But I could see he was turning purple so I stopped.

"Oooooohhhh… Chuckie looks funny," Lil said, "I wants to be the color purple too!"

"No, I wants to be the purple color, Lillian!" cried Phil.

"No, Phillip. You're green, I'm the purples!"

Chuck began spinning around. Looking real dizzy.

"Are you dancing, Chuckie? The chickeen dance!!"

"He looks like Barney!" Phil said in excitement.

"The purple dinosaurs!" Lil finished.

Both sing, "I loves you, you loves me…" They held hands and twirled around the yard.

"Oh no!" I said, worried.

"G-g-guyyyys!!" Chuckie started coughing up real hard. He looked like a purple gargoyle on crack. Then suddenly, a large boot stomped on Chuckie's lower back.

"YOU STUPID BABIES!" It was Angelica's massive boot. She was laughing so hard, rolling on the floor. Damn it, I hated her.

Chuckie got up, coughing up the sand. "Wow, Angelica," Chuck said in astonishment, "you saved my life." He got up to give Angelica a good ol' fashion baby-bear hug. Me and the twins got up to hug her too.

"Ewwwww… Baby Germs!" Angelica cried, "Get off me you dumb babies!" She was getting smeared in our drool and dirt.

---

I just wanted to share with you all how I loved her so much back then. I just loved it when she would torture us and play stupid games on us. But now, as I look at her sixteen years older, more mature, more beautiful, more intelligent, and getting ready for marriage, it was a different feeling. It just wasn't the same back then when we were babies. But I can tell you one thing, it's not half bad. Sure, I preferred her evil toddler self but there's just something in her charm that makes you love her the more you hate her.

She was just about to get up when I finally spoke to her. "Well," I said, I get the feeling neither of us were in a mood to talk to eachother.

I sighed. "Congratulations. You must really be excited; I know I would, if I was going to some big university like Harvard."

"Thanks," she answered, "you can make it there too."

"No, thanks," I replied, "I think I've got bigger plans."

"Well, are you, yourself, planning on it too? Some big school to go to?" She asked curiously. She clenched her hands in the sand, gripped a handful and poured it all over her feet.

"I'm thinking of somewhere outside the country," I said, "most likely Europe. I've got enough money to go there. Not enough money to live there, though. Just to check it out."

"I see," she responded, "do you plan on studying there?"

"My grades are good enough, I guess. I just need more money."

"Tell me what you want to take up. I can tell you've given up on your little film directing dreams."

"I was never really made out for it. I discovered a lot about my creative side over the years and I had no good film ideas left in me. And besides, my plots were practically rip-offs from other books or movies or whatever source."

"I see. Well, I've always thought of you doing more in non-fiction films. You do make deep observations about everything. Don't give up, just yet."

"C'mon. Those little movie days were over a long, long time ago. Right now, I can endure any job I want."

"You have one and a half year left of highschool. You'll be off to college soon so start thinking about it. Dil has already got his career all planned up and set."

"He plans to travel to Europe with me before any of that happens. What do I plan to do with my life? Basically, just get away from this town and start a new one. Probably alone. Maybe I'll take up management or business or something."

"Very well. But why are you uncomfortable here? This place is a pretty sturdy place to live," she paused to study me, "Or are you just sick of the people here?"

"It's worthy of a 'ZING', but not entirely. I just want to find myself, that's all. I just feel this place is imprisoning me or something."

She was studying me, trying to read me. "Whatever you say. I could tell you're doing this for yourself," she smiled suspiciously, "But my best guess is that you want a little 'Catcher in the Rye-esque' adventure of your own."

---

She hit the perfect 'ZING' with that last comment. I never would've figured it out myself, to be honest, but she read everything out of me. That is what I intended deep inside.

"I took your advice, actually," I told her, just realizing it, "what you told me during Gramps' funeral, the whole 'I can never capture the true _Holden instinct_ thing I'm trying to mimic until I can see the world through his eyes' thing you told me."

She had a neutral look in her face. She couldn't believe she actually taught me something.

"Well, sure. That's not what I fully intend on doing," I continued, "I also want to discover everything; to find out whether Holden's theories were accurate or not, or whether I'm just succumbing to the book's tricks or something."

"That's good," she answered, "Holden did end up in a mental facility in the end. Just don't live up to Holden's kind of mentality that easily, okay."

I nodded. Neither of us said anything for the next few minutes.

"Well, that's what life is meant to be. Discovering things," she broke the silence, "it would've been a lot easier if it isn't that complicated. Go ahead, find yourself. Everybody has a purpose and you have a lot, I think. Discover as much as you can."

She was quite relieved that our previous confrontation has passed me. It has. From that moment, I began to like her more than ever. We never spoke much after that, maybe that's what made me like her more. And she also felt better that I learned something from her.

Look, I've despised her, and I've admired her, but those feelings have also passed me since we hardly see eachother anymore. Like I said, there's a gray line in everything. A gray line in _her_. She is capable of being the most intelligent person in the world yet she can be very dumbfounded too. I see neither in her. She's just Angelica; that's all I'll ever see in her.

That's what I meant with 'like' and 'love'; I still hated her premadonna self, but I couldn't live without it. It's pretty much the relationship within all my family. My parents, for example, just the fact that I'm their son is all the reason they need to love me. They love me dearly no matter how many times I screw up but I knew they would rather have me as a more considerate and obedient son rather than ungracious, irresponsible, careless old me. But it has to be me and no one else. Every single relative was still pissed at me, though. I just tried my best to keep away from them.

After all the thought I had, nothing really changed my mind about my voyage. This town still bites. Dil and I needed to get away from it. But I still made a promise to myself that I'm going to re-pay everyone who had a contribution to my well-being, big or small, good or bad.

---


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hey! Hope you all liked this fic. I deeply appreciate everyone who read it. And also I'd like to give a big shout out to acosta perez jose ramiro for being such a great reviewer! I'm actually relieved some people are actually reading this! **

**Okay, so this next chapter has a lot of swearing in it (including a few drops of the N bomb but I censored it out) and I don't mean to offend anyone. I was just trying to put a little emphasis on the kind of racism and sexism that goes around. And I'm really sorry if I put any of your favorite characters to shame. But like I said, this is just a story I wrote using the Rugrats characters. Please don't flame me for that. But I'm pretty sure a lot of you will find this chapter quite enjoyable.**

**Disclaimer: I don't any of the characters in the story. All of which except for Irish, Professor Vivacemente,**** and Elron Swick (But I stole their names from somehwere). Don't sue me.**

A week after the Pickles affair, I returned to school tired and drowsy from a long, miserable Spring Break. I didn't go to the beach or anything like those frat kids were doing. I did nothing but read, write and sleep. I was bored as hell at home since Irish insisted on letting me off of work for a week, even though I didn't want to. I was miserable as hell.

Lunchtime has passed and it was time to head to Biology. The morning before my first class started, I slipped in a couple of beer bottles in my locker. I'm wasted. I managed to drink all three of them during lunch and now, I can't think at all.

At the beginning of class, my teacher came in holding a pile of marked mid-terms we took a couple of weeks ago. He dropped the pile on his desk and turned to the class with a very serious, scary look. "I've requested the teacher who was making the test to make it as easy as it can get," he spoke, "when I've proof-read it, she did exactly as I told her. But from what the test resulted to, I get the idea that you all seem to take these easy, give-away testing for granted!"

He sighed multiple times while arranging the written tests in alphabetical order. He examined each of the scores one by one. In some of them I noticed an impressed expression light up but in most of it he expressed an utterly disgusting reaction.

"Some of you did rather well. Some have sunk very low. But there are those of you who are at risk of failing this course and have done terrible work in this are also at risk of repeating this course next year if you don't fix this. Do take this seriously!"

He looked up at the class and everyone was very nervous. He licked his lips and examined each of us. His eyebrows clenched, exposing his massively wrinkly forehead drenched in African-American skin. He was far from his usual friendly, wacky self. I never seen him so serious, and angry.

He said, "I will be present if you are in need of some assistance regarding the following lessons. And it's never wrong to ask a fellow peer for help with certain assignments and reviewing. But for now, I will allow you to take home these tests and I want you to make corrections on atleast twenty questions. I have encircled your mistakes for you," he looked up and let out an arrogant smirk, "but as for those students who received a B or higher, I will only let you correct five mistakes and I will allow you to store ten extra marks in the bank. They are to be reserved for other exams in case you happen to get a lower score than usual."

He began distributing out the papers, walking up to each student's desk and commenting on each of their tests. When he walked up to Phil's desk, Phil's jaw dropped after he had found and read the little yellow slip inserted in his test folder. "C'mon Mr. Vivacemente, give me another chance! I'll do better next time, I promise. Don't do this to me!" Phil cried.

Vivacemente grabbed the yellow slip from him and held it up for the class to see. "This, ladies and gentlemen, indicates that you are required to schedule a conference with me alongside your parents or guardian and this is to be signed and returned to me by next week. It is stapled at the top right of your exam's front page and I want your parents' signature on both the test and this form. But I only stapled this to your paper if you are in deep risk of failing. Now, this form is supposed to request your parents into scheduling an appointment with me any time before May. But I'm not requesting it, I'm demanding it. I want to have these slips back by next week and I mean all of them. In case you decide not to follow this order without a decent excuse, let me warn you that I'm not afraid of making direct contact with them myself. That could mean anything, I'll probably call them, I can mail them, and if you guys aren't careful, you'll probably expect to have me over for dinner sometime." He grinned sheepishly and the people who didn't receive yellow slips laughed along with him.

"Oh c'mon Viv, you know I'm not exactly a whiz at this science stuff. Jeez, man. Take it easy, will ya?" cried Phil, again.

"Watch it!" Viv exclaimed and turned to the class, "you see, Mr. Deville, here, is a prime example of the kind of stupididity portrayed of pretending to try hard and laying out the same lines countlessly, and expecting me to pity him each time," he turned to him, "how you are treating this class, and this test, and my vow as an educator, and yourself is the lowest as anyone can get. Your portrayal as a putred, veil, and effortless joke of a student fails to amuse me more and more every time. With you, I demand your parents' attention."

"But this isn't the worst score I got. I've done a lot worse than this shit. I've improved!" whined Phil.

"No you haven't. If I hadn't known you nor hadn't I pitied you, you could've had ended up with fifteen marks less than what you have now. You see, just when I thought I've had enough, I still end up doing favors for you. You're a lucky boy, you know that," Vivacemente said in front of his face.

"And he's not the only one! I could easily say the same for atleast half of you."

He continued distributing the tests. The kids who got yellow slips all looked clueless on what they're going to do. They all looked scared as heck to tell their parents. Me? I wasn't that nervous. I knew I hadn't failed or anything. I did study quite hard, actually and I didn't find the test hard at all. I had nothing else to do but study for it.

He came to me and handed me my exam. I got a B, an 84/100.

"Nicely done, Thomas. I guess this is pretty much the highest score in the class," he turned towards the others, "Class, give Thomas a big hand."

The entire class applauded me and Viv beckoned me to stand up. I was still drunk and I can't really stand up for myself so Viv pulled me up. But as the class was applauding, I got pretty nervous so I let out a huge belch and the entire class busted out laughing. That was a real stupid move for me. I let out a hard breath. Beer breath, that is. I noticed Viv's nose had caught the alcoholic stench coming out of me. With the beer still gurgling in my stomach, I almost threw up but as it was coming out of my mouth, I swallowed it back down. Viv was pretty annoyed. He put that beer thing aside for a moment and continued speaking to the class. "Thomas, here, use to be a slacker just like most of you. But somehow, he managed to lay all that out in the past. In all my years of educating, I have never seen such a dramatic improvement. I don't know how he did it, but he did anyway. I encourage each and every one of you to follow his kind of example." I noticed the class laughing silently at my drunken mannerisms. The crinched, reddish, teary-eyed look on my face was just priceless.

"I'll deal with you later," Viv whispered to me as he pushed my shoulder back down to my seat.

---

"Ahhh... Ms. Deville.!" he said as he headed over to Lillian Deville's place, "The highest score in the class! Possibly even the whole grade!"

Here's a hint: Viv's sarcasm mode is turned on.

"Oh my god! Really?" Lil said.

She quickly grabbed the folder and almost ripped it. What she saw surprised her greatly. She saw at the top left hand corner of the test, clearly marked in thick red ink, it said: 94/100 A.

"Oh... my... God! I can't believe it! Ninety-four out of a hundred! This is so awesome!" Lil let out to the whole class. "I'm so better than all of you! God!"

But wait, I sense a massive 'burn'.

She looked at each question carefully with a proud grin. Viv was also looking down at her shoulder, silently chuckling at her. She turned to the last page, which was the essay part, and read the written essay. A shocked look flashed upon her face.

"My, Lillian. I found your essay to be very brilliant. Care to read it out loud?" Viv told her.

"Ummmmm... no." she responded nervously.

"Okay, I'll read it, then."

Lil tried to clutch the paper from him. But he grabbed it pretty quick.

Viv read aloud what it said in the paper.

It said:

_My N-----__ish Valentine,_

_Before I get on with what I'm going to let across to you, let me first give you an answer to the essay question:_

_I couldn't care less about the evolution of life. You ask me for whichever theory it is I find the most accurate. I can't answer that. They all sound pretty inaccurate to me, to be honest. I can never think of a decent answer. If you truly seek an accurate answer, maybe you can ask God. He's the only one capable of knowing, after all. He created everything, didn't he? We won't find out in a very long time; until we're dead, that is. Or maybe we won't even find it out, maybe we will just never know. Why bother asking me? Does life even have a beginning? Will there even be an end? All I know is that life exists. It just does. End of story._

_Now here's something I want to clear up:_

_Lillian Deville didn't write this test you are marking. And I know her well, I know she's going to screw up MY test. She's not that smart. By that, she will cost me this class. Despite all the hard work and the sacrifices I made for this class, with me being your top student, I have stupidly become the biggest sucker on earth. But it's all for the sake of discovering myself, and it's worth it, I guess. _

_Here's what happened--- providing that she and I would fuck every night for the next month, I agreed to put eachother's name on our exams so I can boost her grade up. Based on the way we knicked and how I was beginning to tire of her fuck, I had come to the realization that I am indeed gay. Bisexual, I mean. Two nights ago, I came out to her in the sincerest of ways. So the damn bitch told everyone and now, everyone is neglecting me. First, I acted as if it didn't matter and I was still up for our deal. So in revenge, I wrote this note. It would help me if you read this to the class just so everyone can know how I secretly knocked her up. God, we loved to fuck! _

_But I've also come to another realization--- I love you, Viv. With this note, I say goodbye to you. I don't think I will ever set foot in your classroom again. _

_I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. _

_Tell Lillian, I love her too. No matter how much of a bitch she truly is, she's the only girl I really fell in love with, no matter how lame of a sex partner she is. I will come back for her one day. _

_But I love you too, Viv. I love you._

_G__oodbye sweet n-----puff,_

_Elron Swick _

He read Swick's message aloud without shame and without censoring any words, even the N word. After he finished reading it, he found Lillian crying hard, face down on her desk. I think he's gone a bit too far with that one. I hoped he realized that too. I know it was typical of Lil to slut her way through to get a high mark, but c'mon. This was too much embarrassment for her.

Not noticing the other test folder laid upon her desk, she continued to sob tremendously as her desk flooded with tears and droplets splattered on the floor. Viv let out a sigh and knelt down by her.

Viv spoke, "This is the mark I gave you," Viv referred to the other test paper which Lil wrote under Swick's name. Lil didn't care.

Viv let out another huge sigh, here comes another downer: "I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but, Elron is dead. He shot himself dead two nights ago."

"And?"

"You have any say on it?"

"Shut up! Are you blaming me for it? Elron's just so stupid! The stupidest guy ever! I don't care what you do, you might as well send me to jail right now!!" Lil wailed out.

"No one's blaming you. I'm just letting you know about it."

"Why in front of everybody?!? You've embarrassed me for the last time... I'm quitting school! Just fuck off, you asshole!"

"Is your embarrassment all you care about? Do you even care about Elron's death?"

"Oh my God, are you serious? I never said that! How dare you accuse me of that?"

Lil rubbed her hands over her eyes, trying to dry out her eyes of tears.

She then spoke with her sobbing voice, "I loved Elron too. I love him with all my heart and I care about him so much. Yes, I'm so disappointed with his death _and_ him."

She sobbed even harder. Viv put his hand over her shoulder and tried to comfort her. "That's it. I'm getting the hell out of here!" she shouted.

She grabbed all her stuff, her cellphone, her Ipod and everything expensive she owned. But she threw all her books and notes at the black board which made a bang that caused commotion among other classes. She dashed her way out of the school and no one knew where she went. The other teachers got involved in the fuss but they couldn't stop her. And back in his desk sat Viv. He didn't let it out, but I knew he was feeling quite guilty.

---

The bell rang and the students began to stampede across the hallway, all fussing about what happened. The classroom emptied with the exception of Viv, Phil, and me. Once the halls were cleared, I got up on my way out. Just as my foot stepped out the door, Viv called out for me.

"Mr. Pickles, you are aware of the school's policy about alcohol, right?"

I turned around to him and shrugged.

"I am pretty much against alcoholism, especially when it comes to students. I will not allow it."

"I never drank it in class." I told him.

He shook his head. "I might have to tell your parents about it."

Now, I was scared. I was speechless. I stood there with my mouth hung open, looking like a complete drunken idiot. Then suddenly Phil sprang up his desk and broke the awkward silence, "Oh FUCK YOU, VIV! Haven't you ruined enough people's lives today?!?" Phil cried out loudly. He was tense.

"Philip, go home." Viv commanded him.

"NO! That's my sister you fucked with and that whole yellow slip thing won't work anymore. Cause if my parents get a hold of you and what you just did to her, you're gonna have your ass sued." He walked up to the teacher's desk and stared angrily in Viv's eyes. He was red all over and Viv was trying to hide it, but I could feel he was very frightened by Phil.

"There is no law that partakes that, Mr. Deville." Viv assured him.

"Whatever, man! You're still gonna pay..." Phil kicked his desk over and dashed out classroom, stark raving pissed. He stomped down the halls, throwing his textbooks on the lockers and windows. I could here the sound of glass cracking. He roughhoused his way all over the place.

Viv turned to me. "Mr. Pickles, I'd figure I'll let you off the hook this time if you do me one favor."

"Yeah... and?" I was unsure of what he wanted me to do.

"Mr. Pickles, I'm quite sure your family has a few associations with the Devilles."

"A little bit, yeah. Why?"

"If you could tutor them for me--"

"What the hell? C'mon Viv, they're not gonna buy it."

"Fine, or any way possible. If you could dish out a little dirt for me."

"Dude, I haven't talked to them in ages, now. How am I supposed to do that?"

"Obviously, I'm in a lot of trouble with them, and their parents, and the school board, too. Tell you what, I'll try to arrange a tutoring session."

"Wait, you weren't clear. What kind of dirt are we talkin', here?"

"Skeletons in the closet, mainly. It was Elron's parents who got me into this. And I want you to do some investigation on how the Devilles, or Lillian were involved in this."

"The answer is simple: Swick is a nutjob. He's capable of killing himself with no reason at all. Or a stupid reason, for that matter."

"There's more to that. And that's only an assumption."

"Well, what's your say in this?"

"The autopsy results are inconclusive. Swick's death resulted to either murder or suicide."

"How?"

"His fingerprints weren't found in the handgun he killed himself with."

"What does that have to do with the Devilles?"

"Probably nothing, but they know Swick very well. I just want you to do a little detective work on Swick's intentions. Just get some dirt out of the Devilles."

"I thought it was just Lil, what does Phil have to do with this?"

"I don't know. But I want information from them, Lillian's contribution, especially. But just don't tell them anything about what I told you."

"What's your purpose for this?"

"Just to find out how he died. Swick is a dangerous boy. I don't believe he committed suicide. Obviously he was after something and it was something that killed him."

"I'm not sure if I'm in for it, or not."

"Do it, or your parents will be very upset about you getting drunk in school."

He took out a large pair of pliers that's strong enough to break my locker open, where those beer bottles are still crammed up.

"Fine."

---


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Just to prevent any confusion, the "Tommy" character being described in the chapter is a character in the old 1977 rock opera, "Tommy". Do not confuse him with Tommy Pickles, the Rugrat. Two different characters with the same name. **

**Disclaimer: blah...blah... you know it. I don't any of the characters in the Rugrats, The Catcher In The Rye, or Tommy. Don't sue me.**

Fuck. I really didn't want anything to do with that. I couldn't care less about it. The guy's dead, you wouldn't get anything out of it, really. He killed himself, his choice. Lil's a slut, but she didn't do anything. Why do I have to be caught in it? Who the hell cares anyway? God, Viv sucks.

School ended and I'm off to the Irish Pit (the name of the record store I work at).

"Hey, funk. What took you so long?" Irish asked me.

"Got held up by my damn teacher again. Something bizarro happened today, and the asshole wants me to investigate it." I told him. I walked over to my work locker and crammed my stuff in it. I slammed the lid pretty hard.

Irish was reading some old magazine. As he saw me heading my way to the counter angrily, he asked, "Well, what is it he wanted from ya?"

"Well, the fucktard made some skank cry. It was over her old boytoy who killed himself. He thinks she was the one who killed him, or something like that. Well, he wants me to find out."

"Who? Vivacemente?" he asked.

I looked at him with one eyebrow raised. "Yeah. How'd you know?"

"Just a guess. I used to have him. He used to be real cool," he answered.

That was weird. I never knew Viv was that old. Irish was almost thirty, so that was atleast twelve years ago.

"Woah. How old is he, anyway?" I asked, assuming he knew.

"How the hell should I know? I had him since I was a sophomore, so he's pretty much damn old."

I browsed through the vinyl racks and took out The Who's album, "Quadrophenia". It was one of Irish's favorite albums, I thought he'd like it. He was singing along to it now, "Can't you see... the real me, preacher... PREACHER!!" he sang along with Roger Daltrey. I tried to sing along with him but I wasn't that familiar with the words.

"Hey funk, have you ever seen that "Tommy" movie they made?" he asked me.

"I've seen a few parts of it. Kinda cheesy."

"Yeah, it is. Isn't it?" Irish shrugged, "You know, ever since I first saw that, I've always wanted to become Tommy. Just with the mirrors, pinball, the Marilyn Monroe church, everything. It was so cool."

"Wow, I should see it sometime."

"It will be one of the cheesiest flicks you'll ever see, I don't know if you'll like it, or not."

"Well, I'm not that fond of movies. But I'm guessing I'll like "Tommy". Rock operas aren't bad."

I stared at the "Tommy" poster Irish hung on his office door. The 1977 movie was written by Pete Townshend, the guitarist from The Who, and it starred Roger Daltrey, the singer. The poster had Daltrey staring blindly into space, quite creepy looking. It was a rock opera about a blind, deaf, and dumb kid named Tommy who is really good at playing pinball. By some miracle, he suddenly had sight and hearing after being dumped into the sea. Then he became some kind of messiah, and everybody was worshipping him. No sense whatsoever.

Irish said, "It's weird. I didn't know why I wanted to be like him, he just looked cool. I didn't give a damn that he was blind, deaf, or dumb. Well, the movie didn't make a lot of sense. Since he was born blind, deaf and dumb yet he could somehow speak when he gained his senses. That can't be done. It takes a lot of Helen Keller training."

"I don't think it was meant to make any sense." I commented.

"That's why I love it." he assured, "I wanted to be just like him. I remember about fifteen years ago, one night I was really wasted and I was watching Tommy for the millionth time on the little eighteenth century TV we had. I was wondering what it was like to be like Tommy, if I could really see through mirrors and stuff if I was blind and deaf like him. So what I stupidly did, I took out the biggest headphones you could imagine and taped them to my ears, and I couldn't hear nothin'. The dumbest thing I did was taping my eyelids open, taking out my index finger and sticking it inside my eye. I tell you, funk. It hurt like hell."

"What the hell? Who in the right mind would do that?" I said, surprised about how stupid what he did was.

"I was really drunk. Nearly blinded myself if my buddy Ross didn't stop me."

"How did Ross stop you?"

"He just pulled my finger out of my eye, he had to bite my finger hard just so I could take it out. My eye was bleeding real hard, there was red eye goo all over the place. So he sent me to the hospital, I was still drunk and passed out. The doctor said there's no way to fix it, I was just gonna have to live with it."

"What? You can still see, can't you?" I asked curiously.

"With my left eye, I can. But my right one's blacked out." he said.

"I never knew that," I said, surprised. He then lifted up his star-shaped, deep orange tinted sunglasses over his forehead which revealed a stilled, half-closed, colorless eye. It was an eye with a grey pupil, red zig-zag lines, and a few tints of light blue. Disgusting.

To Irish, Tommy was exactly like who Holden is to me. Tommy was his hero, and he was stupid enough to sacrifice his sense of sight. In my case, it's a good thing Holden wasn't blind or anything. It was just what he says that make people go mad, nothing physical at all.

Yet, you never know. Blindness may be no match for how powerful words can be. In a lot of ways, it's more destructive than any disease.

---


	12. Chapter 12

The Quadrophenia album was about to end. I got sick of seeing Irish's busted eye so I told him to pull his shades back on. It was mean of me, but the sight was very displeasing for me to endure. Though he was cool with it, he understood how his eye could really irritate people. It's amazing how he was able to keep it from everyone else for all this time. And he's not quiet about anything. I'd rather he kept that bulged eye of his hidden from me. But somehow, something up there knew I asked for something like that.

Anyway, we had about eight customers that day. That's considered a lot for a dirty alley record store. There were never a lot of customers so Irish and I did nothing but chat. And we were in the middle of discussing the Swick suicide.

"I don't know, this guy's maybe just crazy," Irish said, "I don't think the Deville girl had anything to do with it, except for maybe breaking his heart or any of that bull."

"Yeah, I know," I answered, "but Viv did say that it was Swick's parents' idea to suspect the Devilles."

Irish rolled his eyes as he was putting on The Who's debut album, "The Who Sings My Generation". The song, "Substitute" began to play. "Yuh-yup. Do parents these days are really that clueless? God, they hardly get to know any of their children anymore. Sure, the girlfriend's always first to blame when it comes to the 'rents."

I leaned back in my dusty chair and put both my feet up the counter. I looked at it, examining the thick layer of hair on my legs. I looked at my sandals and cringed at how long my toenails were growing. I noticed one toe of mine had a gray shredded nail. Wow, and I thought Irish's eye was bad. Irish came over and lifted my legs back to the ground. "C'mon, funk. No one wants to see that."

"God, I'm turning into a damn ape."

"Yup, you sure are a fucking Tarzan."

I smiled at him. It felt real awkward having your feet lifted like that.

Irish sighed, "Well, how about ya? Do you know anything specifically about this Swick guy?"

"Nothing too much. But we sometimes get paired up during projects and stuff. I remember getting A class scores. Smart guy."

"That's it. No, as in something about him or something that happened that you know of him well of."

"I told you, nothing that'll help. Well, he hit on me a couple of times when we were working on a history project, that's it. He was just playing along. He knows I'm not gay."

"What do you know of him?"

"Um, he's quite inquisitive. Always asking a lot of questions about you and your opinion on everything."

"What kind of questions?"

"You know, basic stuff. What's your mom's name, do you have a girlfriend, are you a red state or blue state, what does your dad do, do you even have friends, eh, a lot more. He's pretty interested in other people's social lives."

Irish shrugged. "Did you ask him any questions yourself?"

"You could say that. I just answered with a few 'how-about-you's' and all. I knew him pretty well, but not well enough. I know that his mom's name is Aurora. He said he never had a girlfriend--- except for Lillian, but I didn't find that out from him. He's a liberal. His dad's a dentist. Books are his only friends," I licked my top lip, "speaking of his love for books-- we also talked a lot about 'The Catcher in the Rye'. It was the first book he ever read."

Irish smirked. "Sounds like your type," he said jokingly.

I was a tad bit annoyed. "Shut up. I'm not like that, you know that, man."

---

A few moments later, some skinny dirtbag in a slimy trench coat came storming through the store. Phil looked around the place and headed towards me as soon as he spotted me. Irish had to take care of the dumpsters out behind the store so he didn't here him coming. His loose-laced, oversized sneakers were all wet and muddy, splashing a lot of mudstains on the freshly-mopped wooden floor as he stomped his way across the place. I had to fingerpick the irremovable stains off the sticky floor after he left. Damn Prick.

"Spill it, Pickles," he attempted to threaten me, grabbing the collar of my shirt and pulling it over to himself, "What did Viv tell ya?"

He pulled me on the counter with my bare knees bumping the edges, causing it to bleed a little bit. Just when he was about to jump at the counter with me, I kicked his rib to let go of his hold. He dropped on his ass at the floor with his legs all sprawled out. It's a good thing no one's in the store.

Pitying him, I went grabbed a little ice from the back room and went over to him and aided his rib.

"I was gonna tell on ya, but you're lucky I didn't," Phil blurted.

"What's it to you, cunt?" I said.

"C'mon, Tolden. You're seriously not buying into Viv's shit." he said.

"Who says I'm buying into anything?" I asked him.

"Don't think I haven't overheard," he looked at me with the most unusual stare you have ever seen, a look I have never seen him look like, "let me just tell you this: what's my business, is my business alone. What's done is done and no one needs to know. You can tell Viv that, too."

"What does no one need to know?" I asked, a little bit curious.

He once again shot me that stare with his red-blotched eyes glistening at me. I couldn't help but notice the brown spikes of facial hair all over his face. This guy hasn't shaved in ages, he was a bigger ape than me!

So he leaped over the counter and sat in my dusty chair, spinning around. He grabbed the Quadrophenia record case and read the credits at the back. "The Who, eh?" he said, "use to be a cool band. Up until that fucking movie, and this shit album."

"Shut the hell up," I commanded him, "Look, man. I'm only doing this to save my ass, or my mom will find out that I was getting drunk at school. Please, I have better plans. I got places to go."

"I don't give a damn!" Phil shouted, "Viv is putting my sister at stake, here. I really don't want her to get hurt anymore than she is. I'm telling you she had none to do with it."

"Sure, I believe that. I don't give a fuck, either. I'm only doing this to save my ass."

"You can fuck off, too."

I was really feeling irritated by him. He reminded me a lot of Robert Ackley from 'The Catcher in the Rye'. Annoying as hell. I was going to take care of this the day after. I just wanted to have a relaxing, shitless Monday afternoon. "I don't have time for this. Obviously, you have something to confirm. Just tell me what's on your mind. Why'd you come here?"

"What's a guy to do to be given a chance to redeem an old, damaged friendship?" he said sarcastically.

"Goddamnit. You speak up or I'll send your ass out the damn door." I said.

He stopped spinning the dusty chair and shot me that dreaded stare of his again.

"Okay," he sighed, "I had a lot to do with it."

I nodded. "Speak."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Okay, sorry for the long update. But I've got a whole lot of things happening and I've been really busy with Mid-Terms! ARRRGGGHHH! I've got a couple more coming up soon so I won't be updating this any time earlier. Just be patient, okay. **

**About this chapter, well, this all I've written so far. I could tell it's only Acosta who's reading this. You rock, man. Hehe. But who cares, I'm still going to keep writing. **

**Now here are a few things: It is against the rules to use non-fictional characters in any story, so I made up some fake ones to take their place. FYI, if you read on later on in the chapter, to the part about the fictional band "Dark Shabbat", the real story was originally made for the real life band, Black Sabbath. I made up the character Orzie Orchorne to take the spot for Black Sabbath frontman, Ozzy Osbourne. And I made the character, Tonie Ijorni, to take the spot for Black Sabbath guitarist, Tony Iommi. Just so I won't be banned from the site. P**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters except for Elron Swick, Irish, Orzie Orchorne, Tonie Ijorni, and the rest of Dark Shabbat.**

* * *

When I got home that day, I dashed to my room and just stared out my window for the rest of the night. I had a good bird's eye view of the crummy town through my window. Beyond my window overlooked the vast, jagged evergreen landscape with tiny little buildings scattered all over the area. Nature wasn't bad here. The hills were as green as ever, fresh from spring time. Well, this town isn't exactly bad-looking; it's just the stereotypical people here that suck so much. Though the town really needed a few better guys to run it, but it's only the vegetation here that they're really proud of.

But I couldn't enjoy the scenery today. Not after what just happened to Phil and what he just told me, I can't seem to concentrate on anything. I just spaced out, seeing nothing but distorted colors. It was the view in the eyes of a miserable person. Pure disbelief.

---

"Okay, so here's the whole deal:" Phil told me back in the Irish Pit, "Swick didn't kill himself."

He wasn't that comfortable telling me all that. He was all twitchy and scratchy and snippy.

"The thing he wrote on the mid-term was not a suicide note. It was just revenge for my sister, that's all. It wasn't that big of a deal. He just ratted her out, that's it. Sure, he made Lil look like a real whore. But it doesn't matter that much. At least, not as much as it was going to matter on what he was planning on me. He was planning an even bigger revenge for me."

Phil's words just kept on replaying itself in my head as I sat there. In all those years since I've known Phil, and that was since the day I was born, I had never figured him out to end up this way. I expected better of him, being the comic genius that he is. Not this drugged-up, destructive, lunatic of a _criminal_ that had laid before my eyes. How could someone endure such a drastic transformation in less than six months? Yeah, it can happen. It did to me. But I'm just surprised, that's all.

He leaned back on the dusty chair, and took out a bag of marijuana.

"Put that fucker away, man!" I exploded.

He then took out a lighter and lit the smoke. He breathed smoke all over the place. "I mean it, man. The cops aren't that far from here." I warned.

"C'mon Tolden," he said, "just a puff or two'll be fine."

"That's more than one fucking puff or two!" I lashed angrily.

"I'll be out of here in just a second. Now, let me just tell ya what I'm saying, okay."

I just looked at him coldly, extremely disgusted by his dumb habit.

He let out a little laugh. "What had happened was, I was the first guy Swick came out to. He had the biggest hots for me. Before he even said anything about him being gay and that shit, he kissed me first. Now, I'm not gay, okay. So I pounded him when he said he wanted to be with me. I fucking knocked his teeth out. You know, throwing his gay ass at me like that. 'Remember the other day when we spent the day at the gun shop, Phillip?' he was telling me. Telling stupid stuff. 'Ever since you've reeled me into the ultimate fantasy of pistols and rifles, I've never had a better hobby.' Then he took out the little P-13 pistol I let him borrow a couple of weeks ago, spanned it around the pointer finger. He fired it at the little birdhouse just outside the window. Shot it down to pieces, killed the fucking birds. It was a real good shot. The damn birds fell smack down the ground. Next, somehow we ended up shooting birds together. He turned out to be a better gunslinger than me. Killed about twenty birds or something like that. I was stupid, he was making a whole lot of moves on me, and I didn't know that til' I figured it. We were fucking cowboys! We rode out to some nature place out of town and just fire our damn guns away. And while we were camping out some place, since we were too damn drunk to drive. We slept in his old car cause we didn't have any tents and all that crap. So in the middle of the night he got up and went out by the water. He somehow found some stupid motor boat to ride on; he wanted to ride to the middle of the lake. He then tried to fire a shot at those fishes swimming."

By then the place reeked of smoke. The smoke detector alarmed and I had to fan it out. He didn't even help me fan it out. He just sat there and told the story. It's weird, you know, how he could just ignore that. But still, his voice remained loud and understandable; it still clinged to me.

"As I was saying, he was shooting some stupid fishies, right? He then found some flares under some seats and then he lighted them and threw them on the water. There were explosions everywhere. It woke me and I ran down the water. I was making him go back to shore, but he just kept making fire all over the place. But I couldn't make him go back, the dude was crazy as hell. Real stupid, too. The fucking oil of the damn boat broke out in the water."

He was laughing hysterically now. "And the damn idiot threw out a flare in the water. And the damn lake was on fucking fire!"

He took a giant puff and let out a huge, steaming hog of smoke. Still laughing like an idiot. "It was so fucking cool, man. I never thought I'd see it, water and fire… as one!" He tried to catch breath from his laughing. But he couldn't, with all that smoke around the room.

"He wouldn't come back, right? So the damn forest was on fire, so I just left him there alone. I got in the damn car as fast as I can and just rode off. He was really high, and he would probably catch _me_ on fire if I stayed for him. So, I left him their alone to… BURRRRRNN!"

Mary Jane was kicking in him. He's mental! Like a retarded clown on crack, he laughed some more. He was deliriously kicking his legs up high. But I could hardly see anything through the fog. All I could sense was his voice and retarded laughter. I tried to run to the back room and took out a glass of water to pour on his face to calm him down. He was wet, and he splashed water everywhere, shaking his head. Fuck, I didn't know what to do. I ran to the other side of the street to get Irish.

"Jesus H. Christ!" Irish shouted in panic, "what the fuck is this?"

"Goddamnit, man. The kid's out of control!"

The smoke detector was churning like hell, Irish and I made our way through the maze of smoke. The smoke was everywhere! I could hear Phil coughing real hard. He was suffocating in the room; the air was too polluted with marijuana smoke. When Irish and I got to Phil, he lied there with his legs all sprawled out on the counter. He was passed out, it's a miracle his heart was still beating. Irish ran to the back room and grabbed some medicine.

"Funk, call the hospital!" he shoved the medicine bottle down Phil's mouth, "now!"

"Dude, we're going to get arrested. He was smoking pot!"

"And you want this kid to die instead?!?" he was still panicking, "you gotta do what you gotta do."

I followed his orders and got an ambulance rushing to the pit.

"What's this kid's name?" one paramedic asked me. The doctors put him on the stretcher. Phil was a bit kicky.

"Phil," I answered.

The paramedic gripped his tight fists on both his shoulders, trying to keep him still. "Phil, it's going to be okay. We're going to take you to the hospital, and you'll be alright. Just stay calm," he said, trying to keep him calm. Didn't work too well, they had to tie him down. He looked like he was an escape from a mental asylum.

"Know his parents?" the other skinny paramedic asked. I nodded. "Call them." He ordered.

I had a whole lot of trouble remembering their phone number, and I was in a hurry too. I frantically skimmed through the phone book, looking for it. That took a whole lot of minutes.

So I called the Deville residence. The phone rang seven times and nobody answered yet.

"Hello," said a young girl's voice.

"Hey, sorry to bother you guys but your brother is in deep trouble." I said.

"Who's this?" Lil asked.

"Doesn't matter. I need you and your parents to head down to the downtown hospital at once!" I shouted at her.

"What happened?" she sounded like she didn't care.

"Phil's being hospitalized. No time for that, get your asses down there now!"

"Okay," I heard her shout across the house to tell her parents, "now, who's calling?" she asked back at the phone.

"Why the hell do you care?"

"My mom wants to know."

"It's Tommy." I finally answered. There was a brief silence.

"What did you do to him?" she asked me suspiciously.

"What the hell, Lil? I didn't do anything." I answered defensively.

"Then, what was he doing with you?" she asked again.

"Aren't you going?" I asked, really tiresome of her questions. How could she even ask them when her brother was in health trouble.

"My mom and dad are getting ready. I'm just waiting for them. Now, answer my question."

"Look, he just came in to my work to talk to me about something. He did it to himself. He was getting high on Mary Jane, and he choked on it."

"Oh…"

"So there you go, can I hang up now?"

"So, how're you doing the past six months?" she asked me.

"I've been fine." I was getting a little impatient, "look, I gotta go okay."

"Okay, I'll see you in the hospital." She said.

"What? No, I'm not---" She hung up.

---

Those images kept on playing in my head. I know Phil's become an ignorant, prejudice, dumfounded bum. But it still hurt me a little to see him get taken away like that. I was pretty worried for him. And another thing I didn't understand was what Phil told me. It was just some story about him and some guy playing with fire. Swick didn't die from that incident, that happened about two weeks before Swick's death. He wasn't finish telling me yet, so I have nothing to do but wait right now.

"Hey Tom," Dil just walked in my room, "heard about the beer incident today."

"What?" I reacted, "from who?"

Dil shrugged, "some kid."

"How'd he know?" I was curious.

"A lot of people know."  
"How?"

"Since, you know," Dil hopped on my bed, throwing balls and pillows all over the place, "some kid overheard you when Viv held you back."

He smiled, "And anyone could practically smell you."

"Jesus Chr---"

"Don't worry," Dil assured, "Mom and Dad don't have a clue about it."

"Thanks, bro."

"Everyone commends you for it, actually." Dil said with that poof smirk. He was throwing pillows at the ceiling.

"Be careful with that, man." I warned him.

He was messing up my room! Pillows and junk all over the place.

Dil threw one pillow on the wall, but this time it knocked off one of the glass picture frames hanging there. The glass fell to the floor and shattered to pieces. I got up from my chair and was going to kick Dil's ass, but it was too late. Just as the frame fell to the ground, he ran off so fast out the door and locked himself up at his room and left me there alone to clean it up myself.

I walked over to the broken glass with a brush and a dustpan. I picked up the frame and the picture with my bare hands, and cut myself with the sharp glass.

I took a look at the picture. It was the picture of me, Chuck, Phil, Lil, Kim, Dil, Ange, and Gramps at the Dark Shabbat reunion concert when I was eleven years old. The image was really blurred because Gramps was sneezing all over us, with his mucus splashing on the lens and everybody. Just as the picture was taken, we were just about to duck from the phlegm. It's a fucked up picture but it reminded me a lot of the old days.

---

"When's Orzie gonna bite the bat?!?" Phil wondered. We were in the third row, and we were soaking wet. Orzie Orchorne was bathing the crowd with large buckets of water.

"Oh no, I'm wet!" Angelica cried, "I hate Orzie! Can we get out of here, Grandpa?"

"No!" Chuckie shouted at her, "I love this song!" Dark Shabbat was currently playing one of their masterpiece songs, "_Paranoid_", my favorite Dark Shabbat song.

"What are you going to do about it, Finster?" Angelica clenched her fist at Chuckie's face, gripping it threateningly, "I'm a teenager, and I say we're going to get out of here. You got that, you dumb preteens?"

"The show's about to end, anyway," Chuckie fought back, moving her fist from his face, "just wait a few songs more, okay Angelica?"

"Or at least, not before the guitar solo." I added.

"Now now, sprouts," Gramps sneezed, everybody was smeared in mucus, "don't fight. Angelica, the show's almost over, can you wait? We'll be out of here before you know it. Ah-ah-agh-agh-CHOOOOO!!" Sneeze, "I didn't pay a whole lot of money for each and every one of your tickets so you could walk out of here in the middle of the show."

Orzie Orchorne splashed water at us again. Angelica crossed her arms and groaned.

"_Paranoid_" ended, and the crowd went wild. "Where's the bat? I want the bat's head!" Phil whined.

"He's not going to bite any head off, Phillip," Lil initiated another senseless Twin argument, "and it was a _dove_, not a bat. You're clueless, Phillip."

"Nuh-uh, Lillian. It was so a _bat_. I saw it on TV!"

"Dove!"

"Bat!"

"Dove!"

"B-A-T. Bat!"

Oh, c'mon guys. Orzie bit both a bat's head, _and_ a dove's head off," Kimi broke the fight. The twins were silenced. "Now, both of you be quiet. Tonie Ijorni is going to do a guitar solo, now!"

Tonie Ijorni, the lead guitarist for Dark Shabbat came out on stage to do a solo. "The Godfather of Heavy Metal," Chuckie pointed out to us.

"One of the greatest guitarists of all time," I added, "we owe it all to that man."

"Yeah right," Angelica was still whining and groaning.

Tonie Ijorni did a brilliant solo. It was nothing technical; it was just a simple, spooky sounding riff. Yet, it compelled everyone. Pure brilliance. As he did his thing, the entire crowd just stood there in astonishment, mouths hung wide open. That included Angelica. Gramps tried his best to hold of his sneezes so he could hear it without his cold getting in his way. But no, just as Ijorni was wrapping it up, Gramps let out the loudest sneeze you could imagine. Little did he know that a microphone was near by, and the entire arena practically heard it. Ijorni was interrupted by it, but wasn't mad at all. He crouched down to our side, "Are you alright, Louis?" he asked. We were all surprised.

"Tonie, ol' chap, I'm sorry." Grandpa said to him. Ijorni then finished the solo with a wide smirk, extremely happy to see his old pal. "That one's for you, Lou."

"You know Tonie Ijorni?" Dil asked him excitingly.

"Sure do, sprout. We go way back."

Wow. My grandpa and Tonie Ijorni! But it's too bad they didn't see eachother much, and none of us got to meet him.

---

That was way back when I was still innocent, back when Gramps was happy, and everybody was happy. Those days are long gone. Gramps is dead, Chuck and Kim disappeared, Phil and Lil both turned into homicidal lunatics. The only one I had left was Dil, but still, we hardly knew eachother now. I've got nothing left.

I was still staring blankly at the picture. Blood dripped from my cut finger, the droplets escalading down over the photo. It was kind of destroyed already; it's nothing but mere tints of photo ink and red blood. I tried my best to prevent myself from crying. But I couldn't; my eyes were really watering up! A few tears had fallen from my eyes. I'd look very stupid when I go down for dinner later, so I ran to open up my window to dry up my eyes. It was very pathetic of me. I know I had to stop gagging and complaining about those days. To quote Pete Townshend, I take full responsibility for the fact that all my generation did was complain about the world and did nothing whatsoever to change it. This is my life now, I hate it but I've vowed to myself to change it.

As I was standing by the window, I could feel something that's watching me. A pair of eyes looming over behind me and both of _its _hands on either side of my shoulders, caressing it gently. I turned around, and no one was there. I was sighing immensely. I didn't know what I was even scared of.

I don't know, but there was some kind of force that made Dil knock off that photo frame. Something. _Someone_?

I felt really scared. So I figured I'd turn on the radio, nothing takes away fear like music, but this time it only pressured it even moreso. I turned it on and _"(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction_" suddenly bursted out of the radio. The frequency was really low, so the song kept cutting off. The wind was blowing tremendously. My long hair was in my face. I didn't know where it came from, but I heard the sound of whiskey bottles churning all of a sudden. And the wind didn't sound like normal wind, it sounded like someone _breathing_.

I don't know about you, but it occurred to me, I knew _he_ was there.

---


End file.
